


Sensitive Issue

by orphan_account



Series: kink meme summer '15 [2]
Category: Castle
Genre: Community: kink of the castle, F/M, Kink Meme, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4152243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the Castle kink meme summer '15<br/>Pairing: Castle/Beckett<br/>Prompt: Early in their relationship (could even be the first night), Beckett isn't on birth control, and they make the intentional decision to forgo a condom for the thrill of risky sex. They aren't actually trying to conceive though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sensitive Issue

There’s something insanely arousing about the way his lips trail up her legs, his scruff brushing against her skin. About the way his hands pin her hips against the bed. The way his laughter tickles her sensitive skin. His lips find her–

“ _Fuck_ , Castle.”

He grins against her center, lips curling against her wet core, teeth skimming across her clit,

Her hips buck. His hands hold her down. Her fingers knot through his hair as his lips suck hard and his teeth skim against her burning, needy core.

“Fuck, babe. I don’t–”

Two fingers fill her easily, long and thick and the split second of pain fades into blinding pleasure. The burn intensifies, tugs her into the abyss of desperation and arousal.

And they curl and thrust as twist. And he sucks and nips and laves and laps until she’s a moaning mess beneath his mouth. At the mercy of his hands. Thrashing against the mattress. Thrusting against his face, his fingers until she snaps with a gasp and a moan.

It floods her, fills her, drains her until she’s clenching around his fingers and her vision goes white and all she can feel, all she’s aware of is the flames that lick at the pit of her stomach and the circling of his tongue around her clit.

Her eyes still closed, lids heavy, she’s only half aware of the sensation of his fingers slipping from inside her, his cheek resting against the still fluttering muscles of her abdomen.

“That was amazing,” he whispers. His breath tickles her skin, drifts across her stomach.

She chuckles, combs her fingers through his hair. “You’re telling me.”

He hums, the sound rumbling through his chest, against her. “I don’t think I have to,” he whispers, “you made it pretty obvious when you were screaming my name.”

She has an equally playful response brewing, curling around the tip of her tongue.

That is, until his finger is circling her clit and her body become hyper-aware of the bulge pressed against her thigh and she chuckles softly, thrusting her hips slightly, just enough for his fingers to press against her, giving her the pressure she once again desires.

“Ready for round two?” she asks.

It’s meant to be playful. But with them, in the bedroom, it’s always more. Playful in that crazy hot way that has fueled their sexual tension for four years, that continues to spur them on and have them tumbling— _fumbling_ —towards the nearest flat surface more often than not.

So, really, when he growls and crawls over her, she’s not surprised to be answered with a hard, bruising kiss.

His shirt is half unbuttoned, his slacks still around his waist, his jacket lost somewhere by the door and her dress on the floor in his office. She thinks that’s where it is, anyway.

Not that she cares, because his lips are on hers and his thumbs are teasing her nipples and really, she doesn’t give a fuck around where their clothes are as long as the ones he’s still wearing end up there, too.

Her fingers tug at the buttons of his shirt, fumble and grasp as he pulls soft moans from her, nipping her neck, her pulse, sucking hard at her skin.

“ _Castle_ — off,” she orders. Tugging at his shirt. At his pants. At buttons. At him.

She pops the button of his slacks open, hips bumping against his, thrusting, lips searching for something, for skin, for the salty sheen of sweat. For him.

She feels his grin against her throat, the curl of his lips, the skim of his teeth.

“You’re a little needy today, aren’t you, Kate?” he teases. Playful words mumbled against her cheek.

His lips catch hers before she can formulate her response. The question lost in a haze of lust as she moans into his mouth. Tugs the hem of his shirt up his torso. Thrusts her hand into his boxers. Curls her fingers around his cock.

He bucks against her hand. Her center presses against his thigh, a needy whimper tugged from her throat.

Her leg hooks around his. Arm curls around his back. Hips press against his. Chest pressed against his torso.

He’s on his back and she’s straddling his waist, the bulge in his pants pressed against her bare center, the fabric of his slacks rubbing against her sensitive skin.

Her fingers curl around his waistband, tug. “ _Off_.” And yet she’s not… Not willing to pull away. To stop the grind of her hips long enough to actually get his pants off. Him bare. His cock free. _Him_. Inside her.

He hitches her leg up. Up so she’s spread out for him. Over him. Against him.

He bucks up against her.

She gasps. “You need to, _fuck_ , get your pants off.”

He sits up quickly, pulling her with him. Tugs his shirt off his arms. Thrusts his hips up. Pulls his slacks down over his ass. Down his legs. Hands on her ass pull her up. Drop her so she sinks down.

The head of his cock presses against her clit before she falls onto his thighs. Empty. Needy. Desperate.

Her arms circle his neck. Her legs wrap around his waist. She pulls herself up. Grabs his cock. Holds him at her entrance. Sinks down until his hands on her hips stop her.

“Condom, Kate,” he mumbles to her. Against her. Reaching for her nightstand. “We need a condom.”

“No, we don’t.”

He stiffens. She freezes, hand around his dick, breasts pressed against his chest.

_Fuck_. She really hadn’t meant to say that. But she did.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. Releases him. Drops onto his lap again.

His fingers knot in her hair, cradle her skull. Dark, wild eyes locked on hers. “Don’t,” he orders. “Don’t apologize. Explain.”

His lips find her neck, her pulse. Nip and suck. Travel. Down. Down to her breast. His tongue laves, circles. Fingers pinch and squeeze and cup and cradle until she’s moaning again. Bucking against him. Her mind blank.

“Explain,” he mumbles, “why you think it’s okay for us to have sex without a condom.”

Nip. Suck. Moan.

“You’re not on the pill.”

Pinch. Tug. Groan.

“Or on the shot.”

Thrust. Circle. Whimper.

“We could make a baby, you know,” he tells her, words a heavy whisper against her chest, “if we have sex without a condom.”

It’s desperate and needy and lost in a moan as his fingers find her clit, as he presses against it. But it’s true.

“ _I know._ ”

He freezes again, fingers still against her center, lips still against her breast. Just for a second. Just long enough for consciousness to return to her hazy mind, for the severity of her statement to dawn on her.

The playfulness that came with the game of footsie that brought them here is gone. The desperate, fumbling desire that brought her to the edge once has faded.

Replaced by a seriousness that their new relationship has yet to breech.

His eyes meet hers. Still dark, but serious. “Do you… want that? A baby?”

Her chest heaves. Aches. Her center still pulsing with need. Her nipples still stiff. But she forces herself to focus. On him. On his words. On the conversation.

And yet her brain is still fuzzy. So her answer is a question. “No?”

“Kate?”

She sighs, settles back down against him. Tries to ignore the sweet pressure his thigh offers, the warmth of his bock pressed against her stomach.

“I don’t _want_ a baby,” she tells him. “But I don’t _not_ want a baby.”

She sighs, reaches up, curls her fingers around his hair.

“I want you, Castle. All of you,” she whispers. Her hand drifts between them, finds his erection, a grin pulling at her lips. “No barriers. And if we make a baby, you can call it fate or destiny or the universe telling us that we _finally_ got it right.”

“So, you don’t want a baby, but if we do make one, you won’t regret this?”

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth. Nods slowly.

“Well then…”

He lifts her up, hands around her hips, lets her sink down. She moans. He groans, filling her, stretching her, soothing and yet intensifying the burn in her core. One hand holding them upright. The other pressed against her spine, guiding the first roll of her hips into his.

“You feel so good,” he whispers against her shoulder.

She bites into his shoulder, muffling her moan. Nods her head. _You too._

She rolls against him again, fingers digging into his skin. And again, nipping at his neck. And again, as he meets her rhythm perfectly, bucks up into her. Draws a gasp from her, catches it with his mouth.

She’s on her back in a split second, her head spinning, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Mouth locked on his, tongues battling, teeth nipping. Moaning incoherently as his mouth separates from hers, finds her ear as her face curls into his neck.

“This is so risky, Beckett,” he whispers hotly into her ear, breath drifting across. “We could make a baby today, you know that? After four years of waiting to be together, two weeks into our relationship and we make a baby. What would people think?”

She gasps, hips bucking up against his. “Not gonna…make a baby,” she manages.

His chuckles rumbles through his chest, barrels through her. “I know,” he whispers, “but if we did. What would they think?”

Her fingers dig into his back, nails scratching at his skin. “That we couldn’t keep our hands off each other,” she mumbles. “That we were so needy after four years that we couldn’t even wait long enough to use a condom.”

“Yeah?” he whispers. “Probably not that we did it on purpose, had sex without protection, knowing we might make a baby.” His forehead falls to her shoulder, hips thrusting hard against hers, drawing a moan from her chest. “But you’re right,” he mumbles, “we probably won’t make a baby.”

Her voice is breathy, trails off on groans as need coils within her, flames lick at her abdomen, her body begs and arcs for relief.

“ _But we might_.”

Thrust.

“We might make a baby today.”

Thrust.

“Because I wanted you, _all of you_ , so fucking bad, Castle.”

He groans, buries his face in her shoulder and _groans_. “I’m gonna cum, Beckett. Please tell me you’re close.”

Her fingers fumble as they find her clit, circle desperately and she snaps. Vision goes white. Muscles tense and quiver. Lips caught open on a silent moan. Only aware of the warm spurts of his cum that fill her as he falls apart above her.

She comes to, greeted by a sweet ache at her center and the wet warmth of _them_ already beginning to coat her thighs. The scent of him, of her, of _them_ filling her bedroom. To the heaviness of his arm draped across her middle.

She turns to him, smiles as she finds him staring back at her, gaze sleepy, smile subtle.

“That was…”

“I know.”

He slowly pushes himself up, off the bed as she remains boneless and sated against the mattress. He returns with a warm washcloth in his hand. He presses it gently against her core, carefully taking away the evidence of their risk.

“You know, that, the thrill of the risk, kinda reminded me of my Rebel Bex days,” she whispers.

His eyes go wide, meeting hers as his hand still against her, the cloth lingering against her thigh.

“You did, uh, _that_ as a teenager?” he asks.

She smiles, shakes her head. “No, Castle. Different risks back then.” She takes the cloth from him, drops it onto the bed beside her and reaches up to cradle his jaw in her hand. “You are the first man I have ever been willing to take such a huge risk with,” she promises, smiling up at him.

His kiss, this time, is gentle and accepting. Sweet and loving.

“I’m honored,” he whispers. He collapses onto the bed next to her, hand landing on her stomach. “You’re not going to regret anything if something–” _a baby_ “–does come out of this, will you?”

She rests her hand over his. “You know,” she says, “the chances of this _one time_ resulting in pregnancy are pretty slim.” Her thumb drifts across his, “But if it does happen, I promise I will…try not to freak out, and though I may be scared at first, in the long run, I definitely won’t regret it.”

“That’s all I can ask,” he answers. His lips ghost across her temple, hand still pressed against her bare belly. “I just don’t want you to run away.”

She smiles, turns her head so her lips can ghost across his. “I won’t,” she whispers into him. “But we’ll cross that bridge if it comes, Castle.”

His nod is slight, his kiss pressed to her forehead. “Okay.”

She smiles, falls asleep in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll leave it up to you guys whether this stays canon or they do end up having to cross that bridge.


End file.
